Chosen Daughter
by Ya-Ya Sestrahood
Summary: In an alternate 4x10, Rachel chases after Sarah and takes revenge.


Rachel tore through the hallway, face twisted with rage. Her handicap would _not_ defeat her. Not now. At last, she reached the corner and saw her, hobbling desperately for the exit. Rachel raised the gun, fired. Pieces of drywall exploded by Sarah's leg. She stumbled and yelled out in surprise. She tried to move faster. Her whole body shook with the effort. She was almost to the glass doors now. Rachel steadied her hand. Breathed in. Out. Fired again. Sarah screamed and fell forward, her head striking the door handle on the way down. Rachel laughed in disbelief. Her body pulsed with excitement.

"No," Sarah groaned. Rachel stepped around her, looked down. Sarah's cheek lay on the floor, mouth hanging open, her eyes dead still, staring through the glass to the world outside the door. Her hair was slick with blood. It traveled down to the tips and dripped onto the floor. The bullet had hit the inner side of her left leg, just above the ankle. Rachel wedged her foot beneath Sarah's shoulder and lifted, flipping her onto her back. She didn't resist. She was broken.

"Look at you now," Rachel said, moving back around to Sarah's feet. Face to face now. "Crippled. Just as I was." She tapped Sarah's foot roughly with her cane.

"Did you think I'd forgotten what you did to me?" Rachel's eyes were cold. They pierced into Sarah's. She leaned forward, casting a shadow over her. "You should have killed me," she hissed.

"Please," Sarah whispered. "Please." Electricity ran down Rachel's spine. She _pitied_ Sarah Manning. It was exhilarating. She wanted more.

"Don't you think you should apologize?" Rachel asked with a smile. Sarah said nothing, the tiniest bit of resistance left in her. Rachel raised her arm, aimed the gun at Sarah's head. "Apologize."

"I'm sorry," she whimpered.

 _She wanted more._

"Louder." Rachel dug the end of her cane into Sarah's leg. Sarah screamed sharply.

"I'm sorry!" she cried. " _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..._ " Her words drifted off as she sobbed. Tears hit the floor, flowing into the pools of blood. Rachel's skin tingled.

"So this is Sarah Manning. Strip away the bravado and the posturing, and what's left? Pathetic."

Sarah's body shuddered as it curled in on itself. Her hands were tight fists. Hot blood bubbled out from her leg. It triggered a flash of a distant memory in Rachel. _A young child spilling her drink on the carpet. Her mother's disappointed face._ _Always so disappointed._ She shut her eyes tight and willed it away, then turned and walked slowly toward the kitchen.

"You can stop sniveling," she said. "If I had wanted you dead, I would have aimed higher." She reached the wine rack. "But you won't be leaving." She ran her hand along the bottles, carefully considering each in turn. She settled on one, and pulled it out.

"This was inevitable, Sarah." She grabbed a glass and placed it lightly on the counter. "Try as you might, you can't escape what you are. I'm afraid none of us have that luxury." The cork slid out with a pop. A sense of serenity washed over her as she poured. She looked over her shoulder to see Sarah wriggling for the door, trails of blood streaking behind her. Rachel sighed, turned back to her glass.

"My associate is with Kira and your foster mother." She heard Sarah stop struggling. "One word from me, and they will be killed. Cooperate, and they will be spared." She rolled the glass in her hand, raised it to her nose and inhaled deeply. "I despise these cruel tactics, but you've forced my hand. You've been a thorn in my side for far too long."

"What are you gonna do to me?" Sarah choked out. Her voice was scratched and hollow.

Images flickered in Rachel's mind. _Sarah lying bruised and battered. Sarah burning. Sarah with a pencil in her eye._ Her lips curled into a grin.

"I'm not a monster, Sarah. As long as you behave, you'll be well taken care of." She took another glass from the shelf. "Would you care for a drink? '92 Lafleur." She turned to Sarah. No response but her ragged breathing. "I'll pour you a glass. We'll have a talk." She set the glass down, her hand resting against the knife block. Rachel raised her eyes to it. Considered it.

"But first," she said, setting her hand on one of the handles. "I suppose we should remove that bullet." She pulled, and the knife slid out with a metal whine.


End file.
